Lord of the Rings; as written by other authors

[Gwathagor]

Sir Walter Scott


In the peaceable western regions merry old Middle-earth there once existed a mighty forest which covered the greater part of the rolling hills and valleys between the Great River and the pleasant hamlets of that province known as the Shire. Remnants of this forest are still to be seen near the noble seat of Edoras (and the less noble seat of Bree on the borders of the Shire). Here haunted of yore the fabulous dragon Scala and here were fought many desperate battles during the War of the Ring; and here also flourished those gallant Rangers of old whose deeds have been rendered so popular in story and song.

Such being our chief scene, the date of our story refers to a period towards the end of the reign of the Denethor the Steward of Gondor, when the true king’s return from long exile had become an event rather wished by his despairing subjects, who were in the meantime subjected to every kind of malice and subordinate oppression. The Lord Sauron, whose power had become exorbitant during the reign of Ecthelion, and whom the prudence of Denethor had scarce decreased, had now resumed his ancient dominions to their utmost extent despising the feeble interference of the kingdom of Gondor, fortifying his castles, increasing the number of his dependants, reducing all around him to a state of vassalage, and striving by every means in his power, to place himself at the head of such forces as might enable him to make a figure in the national convulsions which appeared to be impending.

The sun was setting on one of the rich grassy glades of that forest, which we have mentioned at the beginning of this chapter. Hundreds of broad-headed, short-stemmed, wide-branched, many-leafed, thickly-mossed, deeply-rooted, over-described oaks, which had witnessed perhaps the stately march of the Numenorean soldiery, flung their gnarled arms over a thick carpet of rich green sward; in some places they were intermingled with beeches, hollies, and copsewood of various descriptions, so closely as to totally intercept the beams of the sinking sun; in others they receded from each other, forming those long sweeping vistas, in the intricacy of which the eye delights to lose itself, while imagination considers them as the paths to yet wilder scenes of silvan solitude. Here the red rays of the sun shot a broken and discoloured light, that partially hung upon the shattered boughs and mossy trunks of the trees, and there they illuminated in brilliant patches the portions of turf to which they made their way.

The human figures which completed this landscape, were in number four, partaking, in their dress and appearance, of that wild and rustic character, which belonged to the meadowlands of the East Farthing at that period. And they were not human. The eldest of these had a stern, savage, and wild aspect. His garments, which were decidedly NOT of the simplest form imaginable, consisted of an embroidered waistcoat, worn over a fresh white shirt, and supplemented by a sturdy pair of breeches which opened loosely about the knees and had a vague sort of cutesy checkered pattern. He wore no shoes, for his feet were thick-soled, flat, and hairy. One part of his dress only remains; and it is too remarkable to be suppressed; it was a gold ring, like a dog’s collar, only really small; and he wore it upon a silver chain about his neck. Its fantastic properties were such that it would render the wearer invisible to the eyes of other mortals. On this singular ring were inscribed in Elvish characters and the language of Mordor: “One ring to rule them all; one ring to find them; one ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.”

Beside the hobbit Frodo, for such was his race and his name, stood three other hobbits, all about 20 years younger in appearance. These personages were ugly, stupid, and were clad in the same manner as their older companion. They bore neither horn nor knife, but led pack-ponies behind them by their halters.

The dialogue which they maintained between them was carried on in Hobbitish. But to give their conversation in the original would convey but little to the modern reader,for whose benefit we beg to offer the following translation:

“The curse of St.Tobold upon these infernal trees!” quoth the third hobbit. “If that is not the Bonfire Glade yonder, amidst the oaks and elms.”

“It seemeth, then,” returned the youngest of the merry band, “that the trees may move hither and thither, and wither they will.”

“Forsooth,” said the second and ugliest hobbit. “By the Old Took, I think it be so.”

“”The trees may then drive us before them like so many gentle and innocent lambs.”, quoth Frodo, the eldest and least ugly hobbit. “If Old Man Willow not snap some of us up before nightfall, then I am no true hobbit.”